


Good Ol' Demon Madej

by possibly_fries



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Watcher Entertainment RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Demon Shane Madej, M/M, Mentions of Alcohol Usage, Slow Burn, its a whole lot of me projecting what I want from a demon shane fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:54:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28235013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/possibly_fries/pseuds/possibly_fries
Summary: Shane’s been topside for quite a few centuries now.He still wasn’t used to it.OR: A demon falls in love with his best friend/coworker and it's a lot for both of them to deal with.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara & Shane Madej, Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 12
Kudos: 80





	1. The mortifying ordeal of dodging responsibilities for approximately two hundred years

Shane’s been topside for quite a few centuries now.

He still wasn’t used to it.

He sighed at the small plastic card pinched between his fingers.  ‘Madej, Shane Alexander,’ it read, right next to a tiny photo of his tight-lipped smile. He knew a license was important to have, car ownership or not, but the prospect of having to drive in LA traffic at any given point made him want to chuck the ID into the Pacific Ocean. Everything had become increasingly more hustle-and-bustle from 1760 on forward, especially in America. Modern life was express to a fault, and Shane missed the era where it took literal days to get from one town to the next.

Curse Carnegie, Rockefeller, and all the other American industrialist big-wigs for their corporate greed causing Shane’s calm meandering of the earth to be disrupted. 

He’ll never forgive them, but he could at least breathe a little easier knowing they were super dead and super in Hell. 

It’s not like Shane was completely hopeless on the surface. He’d been here long enough now that he knew how to navigate the rapidly evolving systems and pacing of everything. That didn’t make it any less annoying, though. He thought he’d never get out of that dreadful leasing office. Why did humans need so many thorough records nowadays, anyway? It’s not like they listened to the ones they’d already collected. Shane missed the days when he could waltz into a new town and pick an absurd alias like ‘Ricky Goldsworth’ and start a life with few questions asked. For a couple hundred years now, the mystery that surrounded him was almost  alluring to some people, which just made it harder to avoid anyone prying. Consequently, he needed things like a valid birth certificate, credit score, social security number— and plenty more— to get practically  anything in his name (or, the name he would be going by for the next few decades, anyway). 

Shane shoved some boxes around on the floor of his new apartment. It was empty, and strange, and all Shane saw in the cardboard and blank walls was more work ahead of him. 

Lately, his business up here had consisted less of doing what he was initially tasked with and more or less became an ongoing project of avoiding Hell. He didn’t mean for it to get to that point; Believe it or not, Shane was— at some point— actually doing what he was assigned. A little illness here, some temptation there; just enough misery to earn some sort of approval when he reported back to the head honchos downstairs. He wasn’t entirely sure where it started (whether it was him, Hell, or a combination of the two), but he was most definitely certain that one year, a report about what malevolent shenanigans he’d been up to wasn’t made, and no one seemed to notice. At this point, it started to become Shane’s fault, because he  meant  to send in a report for that year and the skipped year, he really did. He just kind of  forgot , and once again, no one came knocking. That repeated for about five or so more years before Shane started to get a hunch that whoever was in charge of documentations seemed to have forgotten about him. So, he opted to continue living on the down-low. If he was wrong, then someone would eventually find him, he’d explain that it had slipped his mind a few years in a row, but rest assured, he’d been up to plenty of mischief. They’d have a good laugh about it, and he’d continue with business as usual, just with an added annual inventory of his wrongdoings. 

If he was right, though… Well, he would just figure that out as he went.

Which is exactly what happened, and exactly why he was here now. As five years became a decade, and decades became centuries, Shane’s excitement over being overlooked started to feel more like dread from the sword of Damocles. He was too deep into dodging his work now that there was no way to explain away his negligence without suffering any major consequences. As much as he hated to do it, blending into the flurry of crowds and technological progress made it easier to remain hidden than isolating himself. If he holed up in some cave in Siberia, he would be a sitting duck for whatever demon was sent to find him. Adopting the persona of an average white dude in Los Angeles, however… 

Shane flopped down onto his plastic-wrapped couch, scrolling through the countless alarms he’d set up over the years. He started his job at some internet media company tomorrow, eight o’clock sharp.

He hoped this new life would prove to be one of his more interesting ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is gonna b a pretty long work, pls hang with me while I beta-read my own chapters! I have about 6 that need review and 4 that are unfinished atm, but I'm pretty proud of what I've got so far :)


	2. How Shane got roped into co-hosting

Joining Unsolved wasn’t part of Shane’s plans. 

Then again, a vast majority of the decisions he made could be summed up similarly to that. 

Shane was currently focused on stitching together footage of his coworkers giving decidedly too-verbose reviews of foreign snacks they were asked to sample. At least, Shane was  _ trying  _ to do that, but the energy that radiated off of Ryan made his skin prickle. Shane had encountered plenty more humans than he could count in his time on Earth, so he was relatively experienced with their varying degrees of intensity. That being said, he couldn’t recall meeting anyone in the recesses of his memory that gave off quite as much emotion at all times as Ryan did. If an averagely passionate person was a bright lamp, then Ryan was a 150 watt neon sign that loudly hummed with the sheer power flowing through it. It was a lot to be around, but Shane was learning to tune it out with each passing day.

The day he’d first met Ryan, Shane’s face was inches away from his screen and he carefully scooted a text box around on a video. The damn things never moved the way he wanted, either going too far one direction or the opposite. Perhaps he’d spent too long trying to perfect “Dogs Watch TV For the First Time,” but it was better than idling at the coffee bar for the fourth time that day. 

Shane felt Ben’s presence approach before he wrapped the palm of his hand carefully around Shane’s shoulder. Part of the whole demon gig was sensing energies— something about it being like a Geiger Counter for judging how well they were inflicting misery. Shane had surrounded himself with ever-growing populations long enough now that he was fairly accustomed to ignoring the sensations. Still, it was nice to have a failsafe in place so that his coworkers couldn’t startle him. Most of them just chalked it up to him being an “emotionless, Mid-Western robot,” which somehow made more sense than the truth. 

Shane turned to Ben, raising his eyebrows in a silent question as he slipped his earbud wires around his neck. 

“Shane, this is Ryan,” Ben said, side-stepping slightly to reveal someone beside him. “He’s interning here for a while, I decided to take it upon myself to give him the full tour.” 

Shane swivelled his chair towards the two. Ryan had his hands clasped behind his back, looking between Ben and Shane, all smiles. He was shorter than Shane by what he assumed would be about a head’s height, his white button-up t-shirt pulled taught around his defined arms and chest. His hair was carefully waxed (or perhaps gelled?) to fall just right, and he had a strong air of cologne floating around him. 

“Nice to see a new face around here,” Shane said, leaning forward and extending his hand. Ryan’s smile widened, and he grasped Shane’s hand in a firm shake.

Goosebumps immediately erupted up Shane’s forearm. It felt like about twenty live wires had been plunged into the meat of his palm all at once. Fear, admiration, excitement, and stomach-churning nervousness whited out his vision for a solid two seconds. Shane was almost certain he was either staring or blinking dumbly at nowhere in particular, but he couldn’t care enough to do something about it. 

_ Jesus,  _ that was a lot.

“Happy to join the team,” Ryan said, his voice barely breaking through Shane’s haze. Shane was cognisant enough to smile and nod, despite his ears ringing and head spinning a little. Ryan dropped their hands, and Shane had to flex his fingers a few times. Needless to say, Ryan was an emotional person. Not only that, but he felt everything so  _ strongly _ , it made Shane feel a little tipsy.

Regard for his supernatural well-being was not a priority of his completely human and unaware coworkers, though, as Ben proceeded to explain that the only open desk that had at the moment was right next to Shane’s, so that’s where Ryan would be setting up shop until he could get a new spot.

That was two years ago, and another desk never did become available. So, Shane just had to grin and bear the oppressive amount of  _ feelings  _ that Ryan always had. It started with upgrading his headphones from the small Apple earbuds to bulky, noise-cancelling headphones. Then it was layering clothing, which wasn’t great in the peak of Los Angeles summer, but it made his skin feel a little less electric. Eventually, Ryan’s loud buzzing faded to a dull hum the more Shane was exposed to him. He began to alternate between the headphones and the earbuds, and chunky knit sweaters and hoodies slowly phased out of his daily attire (though he still threw a flannel over his t-shirt every day, just for insurance purposes). Shane had learned to ignore Ryan’s presence, and most days, he didn’t think much about it. 

Right now, however, it was like someone had plugged Ryan into an overactive extension cord, and  _ that _ was a little harder to ignore. 

Ryan groaned and rubbed his hands down his face for the fifth time within the same half hour. 

That also wasn’t helping; that Ryan kept vocalizing how stressed he was, whether he meant to or not.

Shane frowned, rolling his chair back enough so he could turn to face Ryan.

“What happened?” Shane asked. He honestly didn’t genuinely care what Ryan’s issue was, but if he didn’t calm down in the next fifteen minutes, Shane knew he would have to excuse himself to work somewhere else, and then Ryan would be worried about him, and this whole thing would restart again the next day.

_ Jesus, he was proving to be a handful. _

“Did your file get corrupted or something? I know FinalCut can be glitchy, but mine doesn’t crash too often, so if you wanna—“

“Brent left,” Ryan blurted. 

Shane blinked a couple of times.  _ Brent, Brent… _ Who was Brent again? Shane was pretty consistently preoccupied with the human beacon sitting next to him every day that he didn’t really pay much attention to his other coworkers. Glasses, a red beard, and coiffed hair slowly came to mind. Oh yea; Brent was Ryan’s co-host for his little true-crime series. 

“Oh,” Shane finally said. “Like, left the company, or…”

Ryan pushed himself back from his desk to swivel his seat. He shook his head, sighing. “No, he left the show.” 

Shane knew he had opened something much bigger than he was prepared to unpack at the moment. Ryan was about to vent, and Shane almost winced at the sheer intensity of his distress amping up. 

“He got promoted to one of the chief editors, and I’m happy for him and all that, but— the show doesn’t work without a skeptic, otherwise it’s just me sitting there sounding like a lunatic to half my viewers!” Ryan hadn’t stopped moving his hands, one raising to his head to shove his hair back, making it unruly enough to match his energy. Shane mused a joke about how Ryan sounded like a lunatic to half his viewers all the time anyway, but favored a pause, tapping his pen to his knee to keep himself grounded. Ryan was still babbling, something about how he was going to have to scrap a ton of scripts or post sketchy ads on Craigslist or  _ whatever; _ Shane’s ears were dangerously close to ringing with the franticness of Ryan’s mood. As much as he didn’t  _ want  _ to do anything about it, he wouldn’t be able to get anything done for the rest of the day if Ryan kept thrumming next to him like this. 

Goddamnit, how did he always wind up becoming the mediator in his own bullshit? 

Ryan kept fidgeting beside him, and Shane narrowly realized that he should probably give him some sort of reply. 

Shane had seen the episodes so far, mainly just centering around conspiracy theories and unsolved murders. He knew he personified a lackadaisical goofball most of the time, which was pretty much how Brent behaved in their series. Feigning intrigue over some complex web of clues and writing off any shadow organizations as a sensationalist theory? It sounded simple enough. 

Put simply: Shane could play the skeptic, it wouldn’t be  _ too _ difficult. 

“I’ll do it,” he said. 

Ryan raised his head slightly from where he was shoving at his hair again. “What?” he asked. 

“I’ll join,” Shane said, shrugging, “I mean, I’m just now phasing out of the beast-of-burden part of being here, and I could use a side project that isn’t writing sketches like ‘Dogs Watch TV For the First Time.’” Ryan smiled, and Shane became acutely aware that his attempt to close this metaphorical box just led to opening a different one. Ryan buzzed with new emotions, frantically shoving his fingers through his hair to try and return it to some semblance of neatness. 

What had Shane just signed on to?

“I’m supposed to have this episode posted soon, I’ll uh…” Ryan’s eyes darted around the expanse of his desk, finally settling on the pen in Shane’s hand. He plucked it from Shane’s fingers and grabbed a neon sticky note, jotting something down. Smiling down at the piece of paper, Ryan held out the note and pen to Shane. “Here’s my work email, I’ll forward the doc for the next episode to you when I have it and then we can meet in studio eight for filming.” 

Shane stuck the note to his monitor, gave Ryan a quick thumbs-up and a smile, and went back to editing.

Ryan’s energy was still palpable beside Shane, but it was returning to his usual, puppy-like excitement that welled up from under his skin. Shane was content to just slap his headphones over his ears and ignore the sensation of Ryan’s ceaseless vibrations for the next hour or so.

Ryan finished editing before Shane did, a grin still faint on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have been so nice in the comments, I'm so excited to share more of my work with y'all!! Thank you for the positivity! Polishing up chapter three tonight, should be posted in the next couple of days ;)


	3. Waverly Hills Sanitorium: A lesson in aggravation

It was only the sixth episode of Unsolved: Supernatural. The Waverly Hills Sanatorium was pretty infamous for being one of the “most haunted locations in America” (Shane had seen a few TV shows centered around the concept on the _Travel Channel_ , which is no doubt where Ryan got the idea for this location). Ryan followed his predictable pattern of behavior for these kinds of shoots; A big, looming, dilapidated building looks great online, but as soon as all of Ryan’s five feet and nine inches (and three-quarters of an inch, that part was crucial to him) had to contest the sheer size and uneasiness of the setting, his giddiness slipped into panic. Ryan would psych himself out so much on location that he became the human form of a rubber band pulled taught. 

For once, however, Shane could sympathize with Ryan’s fear. As they stood outside the gargantuan structure, a sense of danger crawled up Shane’s spine like icy fingers. There was something off about this place, which was strange because last he checked, this wasn’t Ryan’s “one demon sacrifice” for the season. Shane pretended to reaffix the go-pro strapped around his head. Three years being in this human body and he was already adopting nervous fidgets to satiate it. He hoped this wouldn’t become a reoccurring issue. 

The cameras started rolling, and Shane scarcely remembered that he needed to keep an air of nonchalance. 

“The look of this building is so imposing, I’m surprised you're conscious right now,” Shane jabbed. 

Ryan gave him a small chuckle. “I’m keeping it together for now,” he said, which was _partially_ a lie, because Shane could feel just how scared Ryan already was. Shane couldn’t really blame him, the uneasiness squeezing his stomach slowly like an ever-closing vice. 

As they drew nearer, Shane could see silhouettes pass by the windows. He assumed they had been the previous residents of the sanatorium who tragically passed. A few sanatorium ghouls hanging around their departure ground was not surprising if the least; The shock of dying brutally and/or suddenly tended to make people hang around until they got answers. 

Ryan continued to keep in step with Shane, dead leaves and twigs crunching under their feet as they made their way towards the large entrance. Ryan had already taken on his announcer’s cadence and was spinning a nice yarn about the history of the building and some of the atrocities the patients had to endure. Amidst the apparitions’ meandering past the busted-out windows, a few caught a glance of Shane, Ryan, and their crew. They paused their pacing to stare down at the group, obviously confused by the gaggle of modern civilians encroaching upon their dreary territory. It was all a pretty standard sight for Shane— if he had any sort of intrinsic reaction to ghosts, shows like _Ghost Hunters_ would be off the air long by now. Additionally, he didn’t need to cause any fuss amongst the humans he chose to cozy up to (for all the fantastic religions they created, they sure couldn’t seem to handle it when supernatural evidence was placed at their feet). 

Shane was prepared to help set up the folding chairs they’d brought in the building’s foyer without sparing the shadows a second glance. _Was,_ prepared— Until one of the silhouette’s heads snapped up to the right, and in a flash they were tackled by something that was much larger and moved much faster. 

The frigidity Shane felt before slowly radiated outward from his vertebrae, chilling his veins. He was now aware that the iciness wasn’t merely mortal fear. No; the ancient, primal side of Shane that had been stuffed into this human vessel was trying to make him alert to a very real, very pressing danger. 

That wasn’t a ghost, holy shit _that wasn’t a ghost_. 

He was hardly cognisant to the bantering Ryan was trying to upkeep— Hardly cognisant of _anything_ other than the repetition of _‘run’_ that kept bouncing around in the back of his skull. Mark pointed and made some comment about where to set up those chairs for the intro, and Shane managed to unglue his eyes from the now empty window. In addition to the mantra of warning, he could also feel the panic swelling up inside Ryan continue to increase exponentially. The mix of the two was nearly sickening, he needed to make at least _one_ of them calm down a bit. Seeing as getting himself to relax was about as plausible as stopping a runaway train, Shane pointed his hand-held camera at Ryan, smiling deviously.

“I think we should let ‘em know that we’re entering, you know— just give ‘em a quick: Hey ghouls! The boys are here!” Shane called with a forced bravado. Ryan laughed, some of his tension melting away. 

They killed the cameras, and Shane made one final glance to the window. It remained vacant. 

Even if he wanted to, Shane thinks, he was probably too far embedded in this human body to stop his hands from rubbing the top of his thighs as Ryan detailed the sanatorium’s history. He wasn’t necessarily having a _difficult_ time keeping up his appearance, but it wasn’t easy enough that he could forget about it like any other given day, either. They were sat in uncomfortable wooden chairs in the middle of an equally uncomfortable, poorly-lit and musty hallway. Every now and again a spirit would cross between rooms, or venture into the corridor, only to catch sight of Shane and immediately vanish. The cold Kentucky wind whirled off the concrete walls, every now and again bringing with it a faint whisper. He couldn’t make out anything comprehensible, but the uneasiness that made his fingers ceaselessly dance across the denim of his pants led him to believe that whatever they were saying couldn’t exactly be _good._

Their next segment was in the electroshock-therapy rooms, which was immediately evident by the amount of specters that would pass by with red welts on their temples. Present-day, the room had been decorated to be a small theatre for the Halloween show that the sanatorium put on each year. Capitalizing on tragedy was tacky, but if it worked for Salem, why not Waverly Hills, Kentucky, too? The spirits that would stumble by seemed thoroughly confused by the display, seemingly losing their bearings amongst the unfamiliar objects. Contrarily, Ryan’s eyes darted frantically across each missing chunk of paint on the walls, gripping his flashlight like it would provide him protection from whatever the hell he suspected resided here. 

“Do you feel strange?” Ryan asked.

Another soft breeze floated by, carrying another unintelligible whisper with it. It made the cropped hairs on the back of Shane’s next stand at attention. Fingers already plunged deep into his pockets, he pinched the inner hem tightly to ground himself. 

“No,” he lied. His voice cracked towards the end, and if Ryan had noticed, he made no comment. 

Ghosts avoided him. It wasn’t new, and it wasn’t particularly hurtful, either. When you’re trapped on earth just waiting to go to one side or the other, seeing a demon intrude your space didn’t exactly scream “welcoming committee.” Shane wasn’t part of the escort bureau, and he would be more than happy to communicate that with the spirits, but the threat of potentially being told you’re going to Hell after a lifetime of “devout Christianity,” you’d probably vanish into the air, too. 

Despite not particularly caring about how the ghosts regarded him, it was proving to be a bit cumbersome. Mainly because the whispers of who knows what that echoed around every room seemed to be directed at _Ryan,_ not Shane. The problems with that are as follows:

  1. Ryan couldn’t hear them.
  2. Shane _wanted_ to hear them.
  3. The spirits didn’t want to be near Shane.
  4. Ryan didn’t want to split up from Shane.



Jump from step four back to one, continue the cycle, and you’ve got a recipe for miscommunication. 

Shane had tried a couple of times to suggest to Ryan that they split up and do some solo shots, but every time he was met with a “Shut up Shane,” or “Fuck you, Shane.” 

Shane paused a moment, staring blankly at the floor as he collected himself. He was getting progressively dizzier, and if he fainted on set? He wouldn’t get Ryan to calm down for _weeks_ afterwards, and that’s more of a headache than he ever needed. He continually tossed jokes and banter at Ryan in a near-desperate attempt to alleviate a bit of his anxiety so Shane didn’t (quite literally) rip out of his skin. Despite it working for the most part, Ryan had a constant threshold of nerves that seemingly could never be quelled on location. Combine that with the fact that Shane’s internal monologue of _‘run run run’_ was becoming increasingly frequent, and he was half tempted to launch himself out the nearest window and make a run for it on foot. Perhaps he’d still do that, depending on how the evening went.

Self-preservation set aside, the very real issue of both him and Ryan still being on camera was glaring Shane in the face. He needed to get answers both covertly and _soon._ Ryan was distracted by filming close-ups of the dilapidated room, which bought Shane just enough time to concoct a plan.

“Why don’t we do the part of the episode where we give the ghouls a chance to speak?” he asked. Ryan turned, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“Really, right now? Isn’t it pretty soon?”

Shane shrugged. “We can film a couple of them, put the best one in. Besides, isn’t this room supposed to be a hotspot or something?” he asked, examining the ceiling. 

Ryan, still wide-eyed and buzzing with nerves, nodded absently. “Sure, that sounds fine.”

Shane was the one who offered the spirits a moment of silence, partially because the oppressive energy Ryan was radiating made it clear that he was not interested in directly communicating with any ghosts right now. The other part was to let the spirits know that Shane wasn’t going to keep straining to understand what exactly they were trying to say. If the ghosts weren’t going to be louder, then Shane and Ryan would just have to be quieter.

The silence stretched on for several moments, the sound of nature outside and the creaking of old infrastructure being the only break in the otherwise still air. Mark and Ryan panned their cameras about the room, adding another layer of white noise. For all the ghoulishly-influenced wind that was whipping around them earlier, the air was painfully still where it surrounded Shane now. Impatiently, Shane turned to speak into the emptiness. 

“Shockingly, I’m not really hearing anything,” he said. He crossed the room, directing his attention to the small window behind Ryan. “This is the biggest upset, I did not see this coming.” He attempted to conceal his annoyance with flippancy, because of all the times the spirits had to go radio-silent on him, now was _not_ an ideal one.

Ryan laughed heartily at the remark, turning to the crew. “I think we should go to the basement next, I have a few…” 

Shane tuned out Ryan’s directing and stepped towards a small offshoot of the room. He took a deep breath, trying to make himself seem as un-intimidating as he could manage.

“Seriously, if there’s something you need to tell me, you should do it now. I’m not here to do anything to you, we’re just prancing around with our fancy equipment and then leaving,” Shane said, his voice hushed. He knew it was a long shot; a demons’ whole reputation is kind of centered on their prodigal abilities to deceive, but he genuinely needed _something._ Whether it was to save his own skin or some weird new desire to keep these humans he’d spent so much time with safe, he wasn’t sure. He was fairly certain, however, that whatever had attacked that spirit earlier was likely still here, and if the other patients of Waverly had a message to pass on to Ryan about it, Shane needed to know before he let him venture into an area so calmingly named _The Body Chute_. 

Ryan finished his instructions, and turned to Shane. “C’mon, I know your weird robot brain is still processing the eeriness of this place, but there’ll be plenty of time for that where we’re heading,” Ryan said. 

Shane nodded, giving one last glance at the room. If the ghosts weren’t going to help, then he would just find out for himself.

Shane had only gone a literal two steps down the hall when the wind picked up again.

He froze. 

The chill of it brushed the shell of his ear, and with it, there was a voice:

 _“He’s waiting.”_

Shane felt like a shaken liter of soda. The message was equal parts helpful and unhelpful, and his frustration in the crypticness had him on the verge of just unfurling his wings and threatening the ghosts into being more direct. His proximity to Ryan and the rest of the crew as they made their way to the stairwell were reasons one through one hundred as to why he _shouldn’t_ do that. 

He took a slow breath, making sure that he was out of earshot, but wasn’t falling too far behind. 

“Who?” He asked. 

A beat, another lift in the wind. This one was clearer than before, and came with the sensation of a cold hand cupped around his ear.

_“Bael.”_

Just as soon as it came, it went. Shane was paralyzed where he stood. He faintly registered Ryan calling to him to hurry up.

He felt like he was going to puke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said that I was gonna post this chapter a few days after the last one?? Yea, me too :) Sorry for the wait, I hope this one isn't hard to get through! (I struggled a bit to make the beginning interesting, so I hope that isn't TOO evident)


End file.
